Meeting 'Nny 1 : The Criminal
by Gabriel Syme
Summary: The first in a series which I'll be doing mainly at the end of the year. It's about people who have met 'Nny.
1. The Criminal

And that's how it is.

Yes, that's life. For me, it's a matter of give and take: you have to take what's given to you, but, what you make of it, is what you give.

Sit down here. Let me buy you a drink.

My name ? Hmm.. I have a name, but, neah, I won't tell it to you. Yet. Just call me..... 'bastard'. Nah, that's not a nice moniker. How about "the criminal' ? A bit clichéd, yes, but, I have no better designation.

Because that's what I am.

A criminal.

And I'm pretty much proud of it.

Oh wait, you want to ask me about 'Nny ? As in Johnny C. ?

I like that bugger.

That son of a bitch gave me one nice cut on my leg right down here. Of course, I won't show it, but, trust me, it's one handsome scar. Yeah, Nny's not going to get an letters from me, but, heck, he sure is something.

The scar on my leg ? No, that's not how I met 'Nny. That's another tale.

If you want to know how I met him, well, let me buy you a drink, and I'll go slowly.

~

It began a while back.

Ah yes, I can remember that day. There was nothing new to it. 

Why should there be ? 

We live in a world where nothing is special, and only a few remote individuals have that ability to rise up, and take advantage of that situation. Sometimes, I wonder about my place in my life, sometimes, I don't. If I steal, it's not because I want the money to live rich, because I'll be tracked down. If I kill, it's not just because the person frustrates me, or I derive a strength from just eliminating one human life. There's something about taking away one life that I have yet to somewhat calculate. 

And before you book me, all I can say is that I'm pretty much screwed anyway. Yes, I have killed people, and I sometimes regret about it, but, I am neither sadistic, nor am I manic.

Alright, fine, I'll get to the point.

~

As I said, there was nothing special about that night; the moon was full, the night was young, and the streets were clogged with shit. Literally. I can still remember the stench, the smell of litter, stray animals, and the lot around me. Poor girls selling their wares (themselves that is), the low life of society wasting their life away, hanging around, waiting to pick on someone, or to await a brawl or two.

I was walking, in coat, shirt and all, walking to some insignificant shop. The faint glow of halogen gas shone dimly in the skies; I could remember it.

The place was making little business. Any shop that has a sign that advertises a clearout sale is definitely facing little business. And in this case" Sale ! Sale ! All the stuff you'll never want" clearly shows that, by now, the shop should heave already been demolished by now. It was, truly, a cesspool of sorts.

A perfect place for a cheap robbery. No grand stakeout or whatever, just a hit and run attack, perfect for practice.

So I waited outside.

And that was when I first saw Johnny C.

~

Now, if there's something that I hate the most, it's morons. Assholes. Whatever you call them. Now, I have to make a confession: perhaps I was one myself. Or maybe I still am. But I can no longer count myself as that mass lot of the population that just likes to victimise about certain individuals. Who partake in cheap banter. Gossip. That sort of shit. I have come to a stage of life where I can only be satisfied by a good book or a cheap thrill. A bit too contrasting, eh ? Don't try to decipher me, we're not here to get into that. You asked me about Johnny C, so, I'm telling you about the first time I saw him.

But yes, there he was, with his messy ruffled hair, a sign of perhaps a few 'run-ins' , the sort we criminals always have, his bulging, tired eyes, always alert, never sleeping, his long, sharp fingernails. He was one guy that definitely victimised as a kid: he certainly did look eccentric even amongst certain circles. I have no idea what is with the idea that a thin person is a geek for the sole fact that he is thin: perhaps another one of those stereotypes born out of the fact that it is always the thin, college nerds who are always pushed around, and that thinness is associated with geekdom. But, yes, for a guy, he was relatively skinny. However, though he may lack strength and weight, one could safely judge him as to being a fellow that was relatively agile. Yeah, that's right: agile. He was nimble, quick, and light, able to skip around. He was hyperactive, and impatient, never waiting for a moment, always ready to strike at any instant. And the boots ! He wore relatively casual clothing, but the boots in this instant did NOT match his clothes. His boots were pure leather, with metallic skull buckles (did I get that right) and a metallic front on each boot. Those boots were one heck of a fashion statement, and he wore them with casual clothing.

And there he was, Johnny C, poised, waiting for action, and threatening the shop owner.

The shop owner, who was a typical goth. Scratch that, goth wannabe. Or whatever you call them. Call me outdated, but I am relatively out of touch when it comes to some circles: I'm a bit of an 'oldie' if there's such a term. But, in all truth, he wore makeup on really bad skin, and sported a nonchalant attitude and attire. If he was a goth, I suppose he did it, not because he found it really interesting, but merely as a show. Merely because it was 'cool'. Ah, appeal factor.

And they were having an argument. Now, I can't really gauge how the argument began, but, I can roughly guess that it was the owner who started it. Or was it Nny ? After all, Nny accused the owner of treating him like some pain in the ass. The shop owner, he never really gave a f***-ing damn about his job, or whatever, and didn't really like the kind of people that Nny resembled. These pretentious people don't really like "losers": they are, in a sense, a pain in the ass to them, as they feel that these people could not possibly be that well in tune with the things they like if a loser likes 'something', it's something that should be avoided, something 'uncool', and if it isn't, then, most people would ditch simply because a loser likes it. People are like that. They don't like to do what a loser does: they follow trends, the in-thing, and don't want to be associated with outcasts of sorts.

So Nny went out in full attack. From all the eyewitness reports on him, Nny has the tendency of going angsty or philosophical before he gets into his murderous, tyrannical rage. And here he was, going straight into action, verbally attacking the shop owner for singling him out, and treating him as a loser, as seen through his asshole vision. The owner, for all he could stand, really wanted to get Nny out of his shop, and finally let out his semi-authorative hand, indicating towards the exit, trying to get Nny to get out.

And that was when Nny started to talk about pain. That sick bastard.

So, I saw it as a moment to act.

Time to gain some dough.

~

It all happened in 5 seconds; smooth, quickly, and efficiently.

I brought out my gun. Nny had his knives, I had my gun. Nothing beats a quick death without torture. As I said, I am no sadist or maniac. I now had the authority. Charleston Heston talked about prying a gun from his cold, dead fingers, now, I want to see these two pry it out of my warm hands. I was in charge.

The owner could do nothing more than lift his hands up, and make his last ditch attempt to safeguard his money. Apparently, he had the cash registers emptied. Emptied, two hours before the closing time of this filthy shop.

Right.

~

I hate frustration.

But, I am not Nny.

I do not like to torture my victims. I do not want them to suffer from a slow, long, painful death simply for the fact that it'd make them realise how fragile Life truly is. To have this very same life extinguished after such torture would really be of little benefit. Then again, that's my ideal, and, for all my fantasies of having a good conversation with Nny over a table with crumpets and tea, I know that Nny would have his knife at my throat and would proceed too torture me excruciatingly. Call me a moralist, but, I don't believe in torture..

And here it was. This sad, pock marked face individual, who lived his life in some store, victimizing 'loser types', and being arrogant when he had little cause to be arrogant. No right for me to shoot him, but, then again, I hate frustration, don't I ? And besides: Nny was going to torture this poor bastard.

No way.

No fucking way.

~

As the blood came, I rushed out, the gun barrel still smoking, my hand holding it up, my coat flying in the wind, rushing to escape a possible wrath from Nny.

And yes, that's how I first met him.

And I can still remember the last words he said at this first encounter: Perhaps it was a mubmle, or a thought he unexpectedly said out aloud.

"Bastard."

Heh.

Call me 'bastard', but, I don't really care now, do I ?

~

(This is the first in the series of four individuals that have met Nny. I won't start on this yet as I have yet to read "Squee" and "I feel sick", but, I felt a bit safe in starting with this guy first. Oh, and who is this guy ? Do you have you copy of Z?: JtHM the Director's Cut ? Now, turn slowly to the third lst page of the comic, just before Jhonen's interview. Yeah, that's right. That fellow. Featuring a marvellous performance by HNB and a group called "The Fuckys". A bit OOC, but, I found this criminal guy interesting. So, if you have guessed correctly, I'll be taking certain minor characters, as they were one of the few that had survived encounters with 'Nny)


	2. Smokin'

Ah.

It's you again.

Now take that damn thing out of your mouth. You know what I hate ? Smokers. That's right.

I loathe people who smoke.

Reminds me of the second time I met 'Nny. That's why you're here, aint' it ? Well, here's what you came for.

~  


It is quite an irony that this incident took place in a cafe. Heard of Cafe Le Prick ? That's where 'Nny blew up an entire cafe.

No. I wasn't there.

But, I was at another area.

Alright, it was more of a lounge, in a pub, than a cafe. But 'Nny was there.

And it's kinda interesting how this tale started.

~

There's nothing quite like a good drink of liquor after a long hard day. The refreshing, intoxicating taste of alcohol, the kick in the drink, nothing could replace that, nothing at all. I can still remember the full swig I took, the strong brew; nothing like a good whiskey. I was all alone, relaxing on a sofa, in that pub. It was indeed homely. I don't have a real home, mind you, with my constant moving and running to escape capture, but, sometimes, to have a chance of what sort of life I could have lead if I had not taken this damnable path, I would be at home, drinking whiskey. Or, if not drinking whiskey, maybe getting round to knowing my wife better. (make that my ex-wife). But dreams are, sadly, dreams, y'know ? We got a life to lead. I had a life to lead. I chose this path, I'll take it.

The bar was at it's peak. My ol' friend, the bartender was mixing and serving drinks to any thirsty soul in the pub, people were at their tables, drinking, a few were smoking as well, and three really big men were playing pool not far from the bar stand. Not a very nice place for contemplation, but, I found an odd sense of comfort there.

And that was when I saw a piece of rolled paper. At both ends, there was a tissue-lie fibre, and most the tube was coloured white, with about a fifth of it's end coloured a brownish yellow.

It lay, silent, innocuous looking, innocent.

And the urge kicked in.

I'd never know whose cig it was that I picked up. Perhaps it would hardly matter; most of the people in the bar would be too busy, drowning their sorrows, trying to get busy in their pathetic and hopeless attempts to court females of a similar kind, and so forth, so, if anyone had dropped a wallet around here, no one would even bother to check. Yes, I took wallets. But, like I said, it aint gonna make a difference, anyway.

And I lit it.

Ah, yes, and I can remember it. I inhaled. Years of living the life of this wretched criminal was recollected with the inhalation one smoke of burnt tobacco, and with an exhalation, the pleasure derived from the nicotine, an old, once sociable act. I could remember, in that moment, the first time I smoked; it was at a lounge, no different from this one, my uncle, on the sofa, gently placing the thing in my mouth, and lighting it for me.

Perhaps an irony then, that'd it would be, my last cigarette.

~

Now, I'll never understand 'Nny. That bloody bugger always complains about people. And yet, his greatest problem is that he never avoids the places he so detests. He hates cafes, yes, that's why he blew up that Cafe, and all those people who were wasting their times hanging around at that place for no-good reason (well, most of them anyway). 

Then again, I am tempted to think that 'Nny purposely goes to these places. And why not ? He's got that message of his to spread to people, his want to change them, to make them understand, and worst of all, to want to change them to be more intellectual and understanding. The problem is, most people just can't reach that level, and even if they did, I believe 'Nny did kill some intellectually minded people once in a while. 'Nny may be right in spreading the message of the eccentric, but, problem is, not all of us can be that. But nonetheless, he goes to these places, and makes a public display. He hopes the people there would not mind him, but, even so, the people there still make the mistake of making fun of him. Well, maybe just one asshole, but it takes a spark to light a fire. And 'Nny pretty much just over-reacts most of the time: the reason why he does all these things.

~  


The arrival of Johnny C. was hailed by an unconscious and ignorant lot of blather, mostly between drinking buddies, the incomprehensible sounds made from the televisions across the sofa and on the ceiling, close to the owner, and from a few bozos who just had too much drink that they couldn't stop speaking their mumbo-jumbo. 

He seemed arrogant, proud at that moment. Now, that I could understand: if you had a mind similar to 'Nny's, at least not in the murderous aspect, the feeling of superiority over parochially minded people is overwhelming. However, I couldn't understand as to why a man like him should want to visit this pub; hardly a place for intellectual stimulation. Maybe a place for recollection and thought, but, you'd need a drink to gain that. Like how I did. Then again, I'm different; I seem to think best after a good swig.

But I never noticed, or knew if Johnny had a drink. As far as I've observed him, his only cravings lie in sweets, sugars, and anything that had a high level of saccharin in it. He would never go for a drink of booze, a pill of ecstasy, or that sort of crap.

Let alone a smoke.

~

I don't know what that idiot was thinking when he whiffed his tobacco in front of 'Nny. I can still remember how he did it though. And I'm not talking a gentle puff. I'm talking a full-blown cloud right into Nny's face.

He was a man in his early 'forties, another face in the crowd, his hair being slightly bald, wearing a cheap shirt and pair of jeans. he had a rough, stuck-up look, and most memorably, had a cigarette in his mouth.

And I could still remember Nny's disgusted reaction, as he turned round, and stared at that punkass for a while, before responding. It seemed like an eternity. I hesitated as I watched. The old sod gave an ignorant look, in response to 'Nny's disgusted stare at this lowly being. For, in that man's stare, was the summation of the contempt and ignorance men of his calibre gave to odd and different people like 'Nny, the same mass who would laugh at trash shows, nerds and geeks who were far more intelligent than them, and would roll their eyes away when a professor was explaining an essential aspect of our world. It was, truly, disgusting.

"Excuse me, but, can you please put that cigarette away ? I'm allergic to second hand smoke."

But that thug refused to get that damnable thing from his mouth.

"What's it to ya, weirdo ? This is a free country, man, and I can smoke whenever I like to."

And he gave another full-blown smoke in 'Nny's face.

Oh boy.

~  


"Why is it that everywhere I go, people always make a mockery out of me ? Why the crap do they even care for what I look ?"

"Well, why the heck do you dress like that then ? Get a fucking life ! Fuck off !"

And he unleashed his middle finger

"You pathetic flocks of worthlessness!!"

This roused the whole bar.

The thing that had remained in my mouth was ejected onto the floor, and I lay my hand within the left pocket of my trousers, clutching my weapon, whilst concealing my arm with my coat. I had to take care.

Sadly, one other fool was not very careful.

~  


He was obviously stoned, too drunk for his own good. he had reached a state of intense ecstasy and freedom, and could maintain a stage where he could do whatever he liked, without having to feel shame or remorse.

Sadly, 'Nny wouldn't feel the same.

"Get off me, you pathetic homosexual ! Oh wait, you're drunk ? No matter.

You'll still pay."

~

Droplets of blood was unleashed, as the audience, originally laughing at the spectacle, were now in horror was 'Nny removed his blood stained dagger from the man who tried to kiss him.

The man fell to the floor, finally, and truly free.

"Woah, woah, cool it man ! Let's not over-react here."

That was from the man who blew a cloud of tobacco in 'Nny's face.

"And this is for stuffing smoke up my poor nose !"

And without hesitation, 'Nny grabbed nearby bottle of liquor, and broke it on the guy's face.

As the guy's bleeding forehead looked up, his hair drenched in blood and alcohol, he looked up, and saw his final sight.

"Need a light ?"

~

As fire engulfed the poor bugger, the barkeeper had his 12 gauge out.

"Now watch it asshole ! You just murdered two people in my damn bar !"

'Nny didn't seem to care. The barkeeper was to be his third.

Action time, I got down on the floor, my gun held up high, as I crouched down, behind the sofa. The barkeeper had a knife in his left abdominal region, and was clutching it badly, while a sinister happy face could be seen on the hilt of the knife. 'Nny was now in business.

The three brutes who had been laughing at 'Nny the loudest were now ready to fight. They were big, burly men, each armed with a pool stick, wielding the like staves. However, even though they dwarfed 'Nny in stature, 'Nny could still take 'em on.

The first thug came with his stick held up high like as though it were a sword; he shouldn't have left his chest area unguarded. The second came in with his stick raised, to his right side, ready for the blow. 'Nny dodged the swerve, as he ducked down, then lifted his hand up and cut the stick, and, to the astonished look of the thug, promptly stuck the dagger in his throat.

The third seemed more skilful, and appeared to be the eldest of the lot. He charged at 'Nny with his stick like a spear, the end of the stick used for hitting the billiard ball aimed directly at 'Nny. Nny jumped aside, but this man was quick, he recovered out of his charge, and swerved his stick, both hands situated around the centre of the stick, at 'Nny. But, as usual, 'Nny's agility was his greatest resource here, and he promptly used his dagger to cut the stick at the edge.

But the man didn't give up. The broken stick now allowed him to fight with both hands, and, with a loud cry, he charged at 'Nny, both of his hands clutching the make-shift weapon. 'Nny got down on his boots, and unleashed his hidden pair of daggers. The third thug was brave, no doubt, as he fought his way against 'Nny's daggers valiantly, but, sharpened steel was stronger than worm-eaten wood. finally resorting to his fists, he attempted to punch 'Nny, even though the maniac had already slashed the guy's arms a few times already.

It finally ended, as the thug fell, with a dagger to his heart, with a good enough blow to 'Nny's head.

~  


As 'Nny recovered from that last punch, he looked round, to see most of the people fleeing the bar in desperation.

Oh no, they won't.

~  


As blood curling screams ensued, I crawled towards the barkeeper, still clutching my gun, to ensure that I did not blow my cover.

"Are you alright ?"

He gave a slight nod, betraying his pained expressions.

I promptly pulled the dagger out of the barkeeper's stomach, my gun still in my left hand.

"What took you so long to get your gun out ?"

"Dammit," he said very slowly, "I called the cops. 'Nny would have killed everybody even if I already got my shotgun out."

I knew that. And so did he.

~  


As I got up, I saw that 'Nny had already left the bar, leaving in it's wake a massive pool of blood and smoke, as he was running away, triumphant and free. The man who caused all the trouble was now no more than a burnt out cinder of a human, the drunk that tried to kiss 'Nny laying dead, completely covered in blood, more so than anyone else. For some reason, I felt the bullets in my being wasted.

~

"So that's what happened ?"

"Yes sir, 'Nny came in, a smoker pissed him off, then a drunk tried to kiss him, and you know what happened."

"Dammit ! We've been on 'Nny's trail for a while now. Why can't we just goddamn catch him ?

The detective, slightly agitated, said this as the cigarette burned in his mouth.

"The problem is that he does his work too quickly. Even if we send bounty hunters after him, they usually end up decapitated or missing. That damned son of a bitch ! 

We have to stop him, somehow."

And he walked off, back into his car, as the klaxons of the surrounding police cars continued to cloud the night sky. An irony perhaps; I was talking to a policeman, when I was a criminal myself. But no matter; they didn't seem to recognise me then.

As I walked on, I noticed that the cigarette the detective had smoked on was on the floor, all burnt out, the slightest hint of flame giving out a little tease of smoke, dying in the cold night air.

I stubbed it out.

~~  


I could tell you more right now, but, I'd rather save it for next time. Check back with me later: you'll get what you really want.


End file.
